


To Let Demons Die

by princelogical



Series: Harry Potter Snipplets [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princelogical/pseuds/princelogical
Summary: Harry is to present a speech in two days and he's barely written a word. Hermione has fallen ill, Ron is destined to catch it and Malfoy really wants to talk to him. Voldemort's gone; life proceeds as normal.But normal isn't normal when you're Harry Potter.





	

"Ah-Choo!"

“Bless you,” Harry said, chewing at the end of his pencil and wondered for what felt to be the hundredth time why Hermione had agreed to meet at the muggle coffee shop in such a state.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said with a small sniff and scrubbed her nose with a tissue. She added it to the pile that had slowly begun to grow into a mountain since they arrived.

“Maybe you should have stayed back at the Burrow-“

“Ronald, stop being a worry-wart, it doesn’t suit you.” Harry smirked as Ron’s face turned a bright red.

“Pardon for worrying about you,” he muttered.

“Besides,” Hermione added, “I wouldn’t let Harry ruin this speech for himself.”

“Ruin!?” Harry asked, feeling his own cheek tinting red.

“How much have you got down so far?” she asked.

Harry looked down to his notebook (he’d decided to use muggle supplies, figuring it would look quite odd for a young man to be using a quill and parchment), that was covered in random words and scribbles. Several wizards who worked for the Daily Prophet had practically begged Harry to present a speech for the wizarding community to “soothe their nerves from the _incident_ at Hogwarts.” Harry had thought it was an awful idea at first, but Hermione convinced him otherwise.

“It’s not for them,” she had said, “it’ll be good for those who fought to hear a voice of comfort, like yours.”

Now, Harry was starting to regret listening to Hermione. He was to present the speech in two days from then and all he had to show for his work was a few scribbles on paper. It didn’t really feel like he was much of a “comfort.”

“Not much,” Harry confessed. “I can’t really think of what to write.”

“Well, you need to be thinking of something soon, Harry. You only have tomorrow and the next day left to write and then you have to present it,” Ron said.

“Thanks, Ron, you’re a real big help.”

“What?” Ron asked and Harry leaned his head back over the paper.

_This isn’t about me_ , Harry thought. He leaned on his palm and closed his eyes. _Isn’t about me._ That really only made it harder. If he were writing this for himself… or even, heaven forbid, the ministry… the prophet… _anyone_ but the countless victims of the war, it would be so much easier. But no, it was not for him; it wasn’t for the ministry or the prophet. It’s for the one group of people who deserved a comfort Harry wasn’t sure he can provide. One he wasn’t sure he was permitted to try and provide.

“Uh-oh,” Harry heard Hermione mutter. Harry looked up worriedly.

“What?”

Then, he noticed exactly what Hermione was worried about. Walking towards to the counter of the coffee shop, was Draco Malfoy himself, looking a little too lost for the usually confident and sneering and _vile_ boy.

“What is he doing here?” Ron hissed.

“It’s a _coffee shop._ Anyone’s allowed in here,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Harry watched on as Malfoy fumbled with some muggle money and handed it to the sweet cashier the trio had spoken to moments earlier. Harry growled inwardly. If Malfoy even _dared_ act like a prat to her… Harry was slightly relieved and a tad bit confused when Malfoy gave a tight smile and walked away, holding a small cup of coffee.

Harry realised with horror that the two had met eyes. Malfoy’s eyes widened then a sneer washed over his face and he began making his way towards them. Hermione groaned and threw her head into her arms, moaning miserably.

“I am not in the mood for this today,” she nearly whimpered. Harry furrowed his eyebrows in concern and Ron rested a hand on her back.

“We’ll be decent,” Ron promised. “Well… so long as he’s decent.”

Hermione just groaned again, obviously not reassured. Harry really couldn’t blame her.

“Potter,” Malfoy acknowledged.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, trying with all his might to be civil, if only for Hermione, who really did look quite miserable.

“Nice to see you’re still the same golden boy with a stick up his-“

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron snapped. “No one invited you.”

Malfoy clenched his hold on the coffee cup then jerked his head in an off motion towards Hermione. “What’s wrong with… with _her_?” he spat. It wasn’t even a rude question, but somehow he managed to put so much venom behind it, as if he couldn’t even bear choking out a pronoun.

“I’ve caught a cold,” Hermione replied.

“I heard it’s going around,” Malfoy ground out. His grip on his coffee cup was so tight, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if the lid didn’t pop off.

Was it _really_ that hard for precious Draco Malfoy to act normal?

“Mhm,” Hermione mumbled. Then sneezed once more.

“Go away, Malfoy,” Ron said. “We’re quite busy.”

“I don’t need to obey your orders, Weas… _Weasley._ ”

“Did you need something, Malfoy?” Hermione asked with an impatient sigh.

“Can I speak to you, Potter?” He glared at Ron who glared right back. “In private?”

“Harry’s busy at the moment,” Ron shoved in before Harry could open his mouth. “Leave us alone.”

Malfoy looked as if he was seething. “Fine,” he snarled. “Catch you later, Potter.” He marched off, nose in the air.

“What is his problem?” Ron asked.

Hermione sighed and blew her nose. “I don’t know. He didn’t seem so bad. He was pretty civil.”

“For Malfoy,” Harry said with a snort.

“For Malfoy,” Hermine agreed. “I think maybe I should go back and lay down… You’ll be able to finish your speech on your own, won’t you, Harry?”

Harry looked down to his nearly blank paper then back to his friend’s flushed face, a tissue firmly pressed to her nose.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Get some rest, Hermione. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“All right. Good luck.” She stood up and pushed in her chair, Ron following suit and placed his hand on her back.

“Ron, you’re going to catch it if you’re not more sensible!”

“I am being sensible!”

She rolled her eyes and waved to Harry once more. “Good luck, Harry. See you later.”

“See you.”

Harry watched the two leave the shop, Hermione swatting away Ron’s hand that was reaching up to her forehead. He sighed and looked back down to the paper. It was as if it was taunting him at this point. He groaned, deep down knowing he wasn’t getting anything else done for the night.

)*(

The time he got back to the burrow was around 4 in the morning. Mrs. Weasley was up at the kitchen table, bags under her eyes looking worried. Harry assured her everything was okay and she went off to bed, insisting he ate a light snack before he himself went off to bed as well. Simply to ease her mind, he agreed.

He grabbed a bowl of chicken soup from the cabinets (plenty of the soup had been made over the last few days, as each person seemed to be catching the inevitable cold, one by one), and sat beside the couch where Hermione laid, breathing uneasily in her sleep. He sat beside her, listening to the breathing and watching out the window, once again unable to escape the looming deadline of his speech.

Should he taken a sympathetic approach? _I’m sorry for all you have lost. The terror Voldemort has brought has affected us all…_ Or perhaps a brave let’s-move-on-and-let-this-make-us-stronger approach? Harry didn’t know. He didn’t know what the wizarding community wanted… He didn’t even know what he wanted.

“Harry?” he heard someone murmur.

He jerked around to see Hermione frowning down at him.

“Hey.”

“Go to bed,” she mumbled sleepily. “It’s got to be late.”

“Will do. Night.”

“Mm. Night.” She rolled over, sniffling into the pillow under her head.

Harry stood up and rinsed his bowl in the sink then slowly made his way up the stairs to Ron’s room. He didn’t expect his friend to still be up, perched on the edge of his bed, head resting into his hands. Ron looked up, frowning as Harry walked into the room.

“What took you so long?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. “Lost track of time. What are _you_ still doing up? Worrying over me?” he teased.

“Maybe a bit,” Ron mumbled, entirely serious. Harry’s heartrate spiked slightly. Ron worrying was… unnerving at best.

“I’m fine,” Harry said quietly, laying down on his make-shift bed on the floor.

“’Course you are. You defeated You-Know-Who. You’re unstoppable.”

“Got that right,” Harry mumbled, turning over. “Go to bed, git.”

A pillow slapped Harry in the head.

“Shove off, mate.”

Harry chuckled and heard Ron shifting around in his bed. Then silence.

Somehow, that was almost as unnerving as Ron’s worrying.

)*(

The next day Hermione read the little that Harry had written with a frown while lying on the couch. Apparently the little sleep she’d gotten hadn’t helped much. Her hair was tied up on her head, sweat glistening along her hairline, and cheeks flushed. Harry asked Mrs. Weasley if there was anything to be done, but she said that colds were a tricky thing. The just had to be waited out.

Harry watched her eyes glancing over the page with a critical look on her face. Before she even opened her mouth, Harry could feel her criticism.

“Harry, you need more than this-“

“I _know_ ,” he said. “I just can’t think of what to say.”

“What would you say to us?” Hermione asked matter-of-factly. Harry was taken aback.

“What?”

“Well, what would you say to us?” she asked again before erupting into another coughing fit. Ron grasped her hand and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“That’s… that’s quite personal though, isn’t it?” he asked, a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

“Yes. But that’s what they might need,” she said with a shrug.

“Yeah, mate. Just pretend you’re talking to us. That might make it easier,” Ron added.

“I don’t think-“

“Well, _don’t_ think anymore,” Hermione said, looking quite exasperated with him. “You have tomorrow and then you present it the next day. You need to just write.”

“Would you just write it for me?” Harry asked.

“No.”

He leaned back and groaned. Hermione laughed. “I think most would realise it wasn’t you.” Her face softened somewhat. “Harry, they’ve all lost people. Lost things important to them. You understand that more than any of us.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, looking more serious than Harry was used to. “He… _Voldemort_ … Killed your parents. You know better than any of us what it’s like.”

“I just can’t… can’t put that into _words_ ,” he mumbled.

“But you can do it. I know you can,” Hermione said then sneezed so hard, she shoved Ron off the couch.

“Hey!” he cried.

Hermione snorted. “Your own fault.”

)*(

“What would you want to be told?” Harry asked, looking up at the table. Ginny looked up from her sandwich and frowned.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

She gave a sly smirk. “What _I’d_ like to be told might be a bit… dunno, _crude_ for a public speech.”

“What? No!” Harry cried, covering his face with his hands.

“Be more specific next time,” she said, laughing.

“I just can’t figure out what to write.”

“Maybe you’re just doing too much “figuring.”” She shrugged. “Dunno.”

“What would you want to be told? Seriously this time.”

Ginny rested her chin in her palm and sighed. “Maybe… That Voldemort is really dead. That he’s not going to ruin any more lives. That…” She trailed off. “Yeah.”

“Thanks, Gin,” he said quietly. “He is gone.”

“Sometimes it just doesn’t feel like it.”

Harry swallowed, suddenly finding it very hard to do so. “Yeah, I know.”

)*(

“Draco Malfoy owlled you, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, carefully pushing open the door to the bedroom.

Harry looked up from his scattered papers, parchment, and dripping quills, then frowned. “Malfoy? Why?”

“I don’t know.” Mr. Weasley reached out and handed Harry a rolled sheet of parchment.

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said. Mr. Weasley smiled kindly then carefully shut the door behind him.

Harry looked down at the rolled parchment with its fancy seal and Slytherin crest. The words, “ _To: Harry Potter, From: Draco Malfoy_ ,” were carefully scrawled in thick black ink along the outside. Curiosity winning over hesitance, Harry broke the seal and carefully unrolled the parchment.

_Potter,_

_Is it possible for us to meet? Diagon alley, perhaps? I need to speak with you about something important. Please owl back an ideal time._

_-Draco Malfoy._

Harry grunted and rolled his eyes then tossed the parchment into his to-trash pile. He barely had time to finish the stupid speech. He certainly didn’t have time to deal with Draco Malfoy.

)*(

That night he dreamt terrifyingly vividly. Voldemort stood over a long table, lined with death eaters as each took turns torturing a body in the middle of the table. Laughter echoed across the stony room; it felt as if it was a physical thing, reaching out to choke Harry.

He woke up gasping, clutching his scar, head reeling in pain. He frantically shoved off the blankets and shoved Ron awake.

“Ron,” he hissed frantically. “Ron!”

“What-

“Voldemort,” he said. His voice verged on hysterical. “He’s back.”

Ron blinked blearily. “What?”

“My scar’s hurting again!” Harry grit his teeth as another shot of pain went through his head.

“Harry-“

“He’s back, I can’t-“

“Harry, Voldemort’s _gone_. You defeated him remember?” Ron hissed. He slid out of bed and gripped Harry’s shoulders tightly. “Your scar can’t be hurting, he’s _gone_.”

“But… agh, it’s hurting!”

Ron’s hands shook from their place on Harry’s shoulders. “It’s got to be a temporary thing… Or… or one of those muggle things… Phantom pains? I dunno, but he’s… he’s not back, Harry.”

“What if he _is_?”

“He’s _not_ ,” Ron insisted. “C’mon, you know that.”

Harry took deep breaths, beginning to feel sick to his stomach and embarrassed. “’Course.”

Ron didn’t move his hands. Harry was partly glad of it, despite the embarrassment. Ron’s grip was like an anchor to reality. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry whispered.

“No you’re not.” Harry didn’t say anything. “None of us are.”

“None of us are,” Harry repeated quietly.

“Do you want me to wake mum?” Ron asked hesitantly. “She’d… be better help than me.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ron removed his hand slowly and put them in his lap. “We all… we’re all struggling. I still have nightmares sometimes,” he confessed with a small shrug. “Not like you’re a nutter or anything for not really knowing if he’s gone or not.”

“It’s not just that, I could _feel_ the pain.”

“I dunno why, because he’s gone, Harry. He’s _gone_.”

“Yeah, well, tell my stupid mind that.”

)*(

“Didn’t get much sleep?”

Harry smiled up at Mrs. Weasley. “No, I slept all right.”

Her smile was tight, as if she wasn’t falling for his lies at all. “There’s a memorial today,” she said casually. “You don’t have to go, but… It’s for all the victims. It might be nice if you showed up.”

_Fred_.

“I’ll come,” Harry promised, taking another bite of his eggs. 

“How’s your speech coming along?”

“Oh it’s… it’s coming along.”

)*(

The memorial would be a nice affair, really, if it just wasn’t so… gloomy. It took place in a large building and several people came up to speak about loss, how the wizarding community can “learn” from an experience like the war. The room felt stuffy and choking. Everyone wept- even Ron, so sloppily and broken, though he tried so desperately to muffle his cries into his hands.

Fred’s name finally came up and Harry looked in surprise as Percy took the podium. He really shouldn’t have been so surprised; it’s just like Percy to present a few eloquent words. But as it turns out, none of his words were eloquent. They were jumbled together, riddled with guilt and self-loathing.

Everyone remained respectful and let him finish, despite the onslaught of curses against himself. Then he climbed down the steps to his father, who wrapped him into a tight hug and Percy just _broke_.

“Don’t take notes from Percy’s speech skills,” Ron muttered quietly. He laughed to make Ron feel better and Hermione shoved Ron in the ribs.

“How rude, Ronald.”

“Oh, c’mon-“

Hermione silenced him with a glare that was somehow more terrifying with flushed cheeks and huge under eye bags.

“Have you got your speech finished?” Hermione whispered as yet another round of slow classical music began to play from the front.

“Almost,” Harry lied.

Hermione glared. “I’m not an idiot. You haven’t gotten any more done, have you?”

“Maybe,” he muttered.

“You need to finish it,” she said with a huff.

“Oh let him alone, Hermione,” Ron said. “It’s rough to write stuff like that, isn’t it, Harry?”

Harry nodded quickly. “Oh yes.”

“You two are unbelievable,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You present it tomorrow, Harry!”

“I know that!” he hissed.  

“When we get back home,” Ron jerked his head to her quite quickly as the words left her mouth, “we’re sitting and writing. You’re not doing anything until you’ve finished.”

“Home?” Ron asked, looking dazed.

“Did you not hear anything else I said?” she snapped.

Ron flushed. “Oh no, I heard it all.”

)*(

Maybe it was Ron’s constant shuffling about, randomly (and quite loudly), chewing on chicken wings or Hermione’s sneezing and bossing him around, but he could not, for the life of him, concentrate. On the bright side, he’d added… er, _something_ to his paper, but unfortunately that something was the following:

_Today seems to be a grim day, for all of us. I understand that._

That was it.

“Hermione,” he said.

She looked up from her cupped hands, eyes drooping. “Yes?”

“I’m going to go… grab some coffee and maybe find inspiration… uhm, somewhere else.”

She sighed a hopeless sigh. “Okay. Good luck.”

)*(

He reached Malfoy Manour with nearly no trouble. He just went into a shop in Diagon Alley, used the floo and found himself in the Malfoy’s fireplace. As soon as he reached the place, he was hit with memories- violent and terrifying ones. The room was still just as cold and uninviting as it was before; it still stank of death.

“Potter?” Malfoy stood up from a couch he was lounging on, reading a book. “When I said I wanted to meet, this really wasn’t what I had in mind,” he commented dryly.

“What did you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked, cutting right to the meat of the matter. He didn’t have the energy or… or _time_ to be childish and bicker as usual. Maybe they were just a little too old for it at that point.

Malfoy gritted his teeth and Harry watched his crossed arms tighten. “I wanted to speak to you about something… important.”

“That’s what you said before.”

“I know.” Malfoy gritted his teeth once again. “I wanted to tell you… that I am sorry for… my foolishness and thank you for saving my neck.” The words were nearly spat out, as if it was choking to speak them aloud. “I also felt… it was important to say that while I don’t… wish to be friends, I don’t want to be… enemies. Perhaps you and I could reach an agreement and be… civil.”

Harry’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He blinked in shock. Malfoy was so tense, muscles so tight, he looked like a stick. An especially pale and frustrated stick.

Harry never thought he’d live to see the day. Malfoy. Apologising. The two words didn’t belong in the same sentence… Malfoy didn’t apologise, he just didn’t.

“Say something, would you, Potter?!” he cried in frustration.

Those words were like scissors cutting the tight rubber band that had been wound around Harry’s mind. He began to laugh. Loudly and obnoxiously. While he was 100% aware of Malfoy staring at him like he’d gone mad, he couldn’t care any less.

“Stop laughing!” Malfoy yelled. “Seriously, stop!” he cried, sounding more and more dismayed.

“I-I…” Harry snickered. “Listen Malfoy, I don’t mean to discredit your apology, but oh boy.” Harry tried to straighten up and remain slightly serious as he went on. “You’re a Slytherin. No offense, but apologising works well for you. It’s your best bet at this point, isn’t it? You knowing, taking the humbling angle.”

A flush of red raced along Malfoy’s pale cheeks. “Listen, Potter, apologising does me no good, or are you too thick to realise this? No one is around. No one is here to witness it. I am… humiliating myself for… not for my sake. It does no good for me.”

Harry frowned. Well… Malfoy was right. It would make sense for Malfoy to make a public apology. To make himself look like a sorrowful and helpless victim, putting himself humbly at Harry’s feet. It would a clever move indeed, but it wasn’t Malfoy’s move. It appeared there was nothing to gain from Harry to apologise. Even to thank him for saving Malfoy.

If Harry didn’t know any better, he might say the move was almost… selfless.

Harry hummed awkwardly in agreement then looked cautiously around the room. “Where is your father? Or mother.”

“My father’s on trial. They’ll likely send him off to Azkaban. My mother… She’s been tried and is under a sort of house arrest. She’s resting at the moment.”

“Oh,” Harry replied.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you right now,” Harry admitted after a long pause of uncomfortable silence. “You’ve been awful. To my friends. To everyone. You fought against what I fought for. I don’t know if I honestly can ever forgive you. I’m not sorry for that.”

“Yeah.” Malfoy didn’t looked surprised by Harry’s onslaught of words. He just looked accepting. Perhaps a tad mournful. “If it is any consolation, I regret all I’ve done. If I regret it because we lost or if I regret it because I made the wrong choice, I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m trying to figure that out. I’m trying to figure a lot out.” He grit his teeth again, looking increasingly more uncomfortable and embarrassed.

“Okay.” Harry couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“Well. That’s all I have to say.”

“You sure are a piece of work, Malfoy.” There was no malice to his words. “Your letter sounded serious.”

“It was serious,” Malfoy said, looking offended.

“Sure.” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. He tried to be casual as he asked, “So your mother and father… Ya know, so… what about you?”

Malfoy glared and clenched his fists. “I am being tried this week,” he said slowly.

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the abrupt switch of topic. “No, Potter. Why?”

“Well, there’s this speech I have to present…”

)*(

Harry came back to the Burrow an hour (maybe two… Harry lost track of time, sue him), later. He was instantly greeted with a glaring Hermione.

“Blimey, Harry, you took forever to grab coffee,” Ron remarked.

“And you don’t even have any coffee! What took you so long?” Hermione asked. However, it was more like an order, demanding for information.

“I got inspiration,” Harry said.

Hermione looked floored. “How much have you gotten down?”

“Four paragraphs.”

“Let me see.”

Harry sighed, but still yet extended out his hand, gripping the paper. Hermione took it and her eyes flinted over the page. After a long moment, her eyes welled with tears. “Harry, this is… oh, it’s so lovely!” She flung her arms around him. Harry hesitated, slightly wary to be hugging someone so sick, but still wrapped his hesitant arms around her. He met Ron’s eye who looked at him with a weary smile.

“You think it’s okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. It’s perfect.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Harry felt himself relax.

)*(

After loads of encouraging smiles, pats on the back and words from Hermione and Ron, Harry found himself standing at a podium in Hogwarts. Reporters stood all around him, photographing the vast amount of wizards in the crowd and several shots of himself. He hated the attention. Loathed it.

_This isn’t for me,_ he thought, looking into the crowd of grieving mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and friends. _It’s for them_.

That made it feel a little better.

The room was silent. Unnervingly silent. Hogwarts usually bustled with joy, fun and useless noise. It was grim; it was quiet and it didn’t feel right. Harry cleared his throat and leaned in closer to the mic charmed to record every word he’d stutter into it.

“Hello,” he greeted meekly. Then swallowed again. The wizards all stared at him. Their expressions varied from sadness to awe to disgust. A rock settled in his stomach.

“Today seems to be a grim day, for all of us. I understand that. It’s been rough, horrid even, over the course of this war we have fought. Now it is over and I can understand quite well that it might not really feel like it. We have lost much. We all grieve for those we’ve lost. We feel relief for those who’ve survived.”

“But we can’t just think about our loss, because we have gained so much. Those who have fought and died did not die in vain. We won. Voldemort,” there was a tense bubble in the air and some of the audience shifted uncomfortably at the name, “is gone. He’s really gone.”

“What are we to do now? We have to learn. This is another mark in history and we must remember it. Remember the names of the ones we lost. Every last one of them. They mattered. They were brave. They fought for what was right. We must not let prejudice guide us anymore. Muggle-borns, squibs, purbloods, muggles- we are all living, breathing people. We all matter.”

“Voldemort lived without love. We can’t forget love. Never. Dumbledore was right in saying to pity those who live without love. Voldemort isn’t to be respected- he is to be pitied. He lived with no love and look at what happened. He was a coward. We shouldn’t be scared to say his name. It won’t scare us any longer.”

“The war is over. We’re okay; we won. We won!” Harry took a deep breath, feeling his throat tighten. “Even if it doesn’t feel it we won anything, we did. Voldemort is gone. We are here. It’s up to us to never let anything like this happen again. Thank you for all your time.” Harry stepped away from the mic, suddenly feeling too heavy and his stomach in knots.

The crowd applauded. Harry looked for the familiar faces. The Weasley family stood, clapping and smiling; tears ran down Mrs. Weasley’s face like a waterfall. Ginny blew him a kiss. Neville and Luna stood together and Neville clapped, hands held into the air. Luna shot him a smile full of such joy, it almost hurt. Hermione was practically weeping and Ron held his arms firmly around her. His eyes met Harry’s and he gave a firm nod and smile. That communicated more than words ever could.

In the middle of the crowd, beside his mother Narcissa, Draco stood. His face was passive, no emotion written in his features. His hands clapped in a mechanical way. But then his mother wrapped an arm around him and tugged him close. Her nails looked as if they were digging into Draco’s arm; her face was proud, but her eyes looked weary. Draco’s hands dropped to his sides and he met Harry’s eyes. He jerked his head away, but Harry could see, even from so far away, the look of grief spreading across the boy’s features.

Harry waved awkwardly and walked off the stage, the clapping fading from his hearing. He needed a little time alone; a time to convince himself that what he’d just preached was true and not just a wisp of false comfort that would vanish in an instant like the many lives that had been lost along the way.

)*(

“That was amazing,” Hermione praised as she sat across from him in a booth at the same muggle coffee shop they had visited a mere couple days ago. Hermione had suggested that it might be better to go to a muggle shop, as they’d be less likely to get bombarded by wizards eager to speak to Harry. Harry really appreciated Hermione and Ron; it was as if they had a mental link, knowing when Harry just really needed time with just the three of them.

“Was it?” Harry asked. “I… I wasn’t so sure.”

“Well, you did make a few grammatical errors and at one point, you began to-“

Ron quickly cut her off. “It really was quite good,” Rom promised. “Even George cried.”

That really didn’t make Harry feel much better or smooth the anxious knots in his stomach at all, but Harry smiled, knowing Ron was only trying to help in his own way.

“I was a bit surprised to see Malfoy there,” Hermione commented lightly.

“A bit!” Ron exclaimed. “I was shocked! I didn’t think the git would dare show his face to the public. Most people working for Voldemort were either tried or went off-”

“I wasn’t surprised,” Harry admitted.

Ron frowned. “Really?”

“I invited him.”

Ron raised an eyebrow then leaned back and took a long drink from his coffee. “Not gonna lie, I did not expect that.”

“You’re not angry?”

Hermine rolled her eyes. “Why would either of us be angry?”

“Well-“ Ron began, but Hermione punched his arm, effectively cutting him off.

“You hate Malfoy,” Harry deadpanned.

“Yeah, I do,” Ron said. “But you get to invite whoever you want. It doesn’t matter what I think. Your speech, your decision.”

“He actually helped me write a bit of it,” Harry confessed, now that he’d started he didn’t feel as if he could stop. “He wasn’t a total prat about it either. And… and he even apologised.”

Ron’s eyes were so wide it was almost comical. “ _What_?” he choked out.

“I dunno. It’s not like I forgave him or anything.” Harry slumped in his seat and rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling so exhausted, as if the weight of the world was lying once again upon his shoulders.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Hermione said. “We’re not judging you. Promise.”

“Yeah,” Ron piped up. “It… it was pretty decent of him to help you write some of that. The result was really good anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Harry…” Hermione trailed off. “You seem a bit stressed.”

“I’m all right. Just feel a bit… Weird.”

“Weird?” Ron asked.

“Dunno. Sometimes I feel hyper-alert. Like something bad is close to happening.” He swallowed. “It’s a bit terrifying.”

“Same here,” Hermione said quietly. “Sometimes this all doesn’t feel real.”

Ron remained silent, looking very interested in his hands which gripped his coffee cup. “I feel that,” he muttered.

“Will we ever feel normal again?” Harry asked desperately. “I don’t want to feel this way for the rest of my life. I really don’t.”

“We won’t,” Hermione said firmly. “Of course not. It’ll fade with time.”

The trio looked everywhere but each other, as if looking into each other’s eyes would reveal that all she’d just said was nothing but a lie.

)*(

“Open up!”

Harry jerked awake and yanked his wand out, shoving it in front of him. He scrambled around on his makeshift bed. Ron remained sleeping soundly behind him. He blearily blinked the sticky sleepiness from his eyes.

A firm knock sounded at the door. “Are you lot decent?”

Harry’s heaving chest settled down at the familiar voice. Ginny.

“Yeah, come in.” The knob twisted and Ginny came in, looking well put together even in her pyjamas with her hair running down her shoulders in perfect waves. She smiled upon seeing him.

“Nice hairstyle,” she commented with a little giggle. Harry reached up and tried without any reward to flatten his hair. “You’re in the Prophet.” She reached out and handed Harry the paper. He took it, trying to hide his eagerness. He skimmed over the article and photographs.

It was… decent. They didn’t exactly paint him a hero, but they didn’t paint him an enemy. They were pretty sympathetic, quoting a lot of his speech. Making him seem brave… courageous.

The exact opposite of how he felt.

“That’s pretty neat, isn’t it?” she asked. She smiled again. “They’re not smearing you for once.”

“Yeah. They can’t now that I’m a war hero.”

Her smile dropped a couple degrees. “You sound cynical.”

“Do I have any reason not to be?”

 Ginny huffed and a hand made her way to her hip. “Yes. Why do you sound so… self-deprecating?”

“Dunno. Maybe because I’m not any sort of hero they think I am.”

All humour and smiling was gone from Ginny’s face; it was replaced with anger. “You are a… a bloody fool.”

Harry jerked back. “What?”

“Maybe you don’t think you’re any sort of hero, but there are people who really feel like you are one.”

“Yeah, who?” Harry felt his voice rise, fire rising in his throat. “Name one damn person who thinks I’m any sort of hero! Name one! N-“

“You’re a real blind idiot, Harry Potter,” Ginny snarled. She was shaking, fists clenched at her sides. “Half the wizarding world thinks you’re a hero. And you know what? They don’t even matter, you idiot. Because guess what? _I_ think you’re a hero. And really, that should matter.”

Harry swallowed. “That… it does matter. It does.”

“Yeah? Well, sometimes I don’t feel like my opinion matters at all. You trudge on, acting like you have to bear everything alone. You’ve got to stop with that.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I should matter enough for you to share what’s going on with me.”

“You do,” Harry whispered. He reached his hand out and curled it around the back of Ginny’s neck and began to draw her in. The anger was gone from her eyes, replaced with vulnerability. She smiled shakily and leaned in closer.

A cough interrupted the moment. “Could you two do this anywhere but right here? Really.”

They two slowly drew apart and looked at Ron, who sat up with his hair a sweaty mess and face red. “And tell mum I think I’ve caught something.”

“Gee, wonder how that happened,” Ginny muttered with a small grin and winked at Harry. “Let’s find some privacy, hm?”

)*(

Ron laid his head on the kitchen table, moaning miserably. “I’ve caught the plague.”

“A cold,” Hermione commented cheerfully. Her curls were pulled up in a ponytail, revealing her shining face. She looked much better than she had in quite some time. Ron, on the other hand, looked worse for wear. “I told you that you’d catch it if you weren’t careful.”

Ron glared. “I was careful!”

Harry snorted into his glass of water. “Sorry,” he said, sounding not sorry at all.

“You two are awful. See if I ever help you when you’re sick!”

“Oh, Ron. You poor soul,” George said, floating through the kitchen in a rush and grabbed himself a bottle of something green and slimy. Harry really didn’t want to know what it was, especially since as soon as George popped the cap, it made a loud wailing noise. He looked quite pleased with himself and ran off with a wave. 

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley said walking into the kitchen. “Draco Malfoy owlled you,” he said and handed Harry a rolled up piece of parchment with fancy seal and the typical Slytherin crest.

“What does _he_ want?” Ron half growled, half moaned. Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “Old grump.”

“Dunno,” Harry admitted. “I’m gonna go… uh, straighten up the room.”

It was a pathetic excuse. Hermione frowned disapprovingly at him, but Ron gave a pitiful thumbs up, which Harry took as his cue to leave. He made his way up to the two’s room then sat down on Ron’s bed and broke the seal. He carefully unrolled the parchment.

_Potter,_

_I am writing you to make you aware that I am being sent off to Azkaban for a little while. Not for long since I haven’t hit my eighteenth birthday yet. I don’t know if you need to know this. I really don’t think you care- nor do I. I don’t know. However, I think it will be good for you to know that I have come to understand I do not regret losing. I regret acting so foolishly. I realise that while my mother and father believed wrongly, I did not have to. I fought on the wrong side and I regret that. Not because I am facing punishment, not that such a thing is pleasing, but because I was a right prat, thinking purebloods were any better off._

_I have met someone. They have changed the way I think. I am learning. I am trying to be better. I only request one thing from you. Apologise to Granger. You don’t have to, but I regret everything about her the most. I have been cruel and spiteful. I sat and watched on as she was tortured. I can’t forget that. I don’t think I ever will. I don’t want to._

_I hope I can change. I think losing everything really helps to realise what an… ass I have been._

_-Draco Malfoy._

Harry slowly lowered the letter. He had never felt more shaken in his entire life.

)*(

Harry avoided saying anything about the letter to anyone for quite a while. No moment felt like the right moment. Shamefully, he also felt angry, so desperately angry with Draco stinking Malfoy. After being so horrible for such a long time, he thought he could just come in and say he was _sorry_ and he was _changing_.

Right.

Because that made it all better. That erased the horrible things Malfoy had done. Funny how _after_ everything was said and done, he was sorry. He was _changing_.

Right. _Right_.

)*(

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked, frustration filling her voice. She sounded as if she’d been holding that question in for a very long time. Ron looked up from his soup bowl, still looking as if he wanted death to come and grab him.

“No,” he admitted quietly.

“What’s wrong then?” she asked with a frown.

Harry sighed and reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded parchment. Hermione took it with her eyebrows furrowed in a frown. He watched her eyes do the whole skimming-over-the-page thing. Then her eyes widened. She read over it again. Her eyes swung back up to the top and she read it again. She whipped her eyes once more. Harry watched Ron snatch the parchment from her hands, finally giving in to the frustration boiling under his skin.

“What is it?” Ron snapped and then began to read the paper for himself. Ron’s fists clenched, tearing little wears into the edges of the parchment. Harry grabbed it from him before he could do anymore damage.

Hermione let out a long sigh. “No wonder you’ve been so upset.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “What a prat.”

“Have you written him back?”

“Can you even send a letter to someone in Azkaban?” Harry asked.

“Well,” she said finally, “I don’t forgive him. Not yet anyway.”

Harry laughed; somehow it sounded defeated and sad. “Me either.”

)*(

After two weeks’ time, it was a cruel fate that the stupid cold managed to make a full circle around the trio and Harry caught it. He understood Ron and Hermione’s misery, but he also couldn’t help feeling miffed at a certain red-head.

“This is your fault,” Harry groaned. “Ron, if you hadn’t-“

“Why are you blaming me and not Hermione?” he cried indignantly.

“Because you were an idiot!”

“Stop fighting, you two. It solves nothing,” Hermione said.

“I’m going to go pick up cold medicine,” he grumbled. “I’ll see you lot later.

)*(

Seeing Malfoy in a coffee shop a while back was odd. However, Harry thinks seeing him in a muggle store, holding hands with a girl Harry had never seen before is what really takes the cake. He was scanning the aisle of cold and flu medicines as the girl spoke hurriedly with a big smile spread across her face. 

Malfoy looked up and met eyes with Harry. Harry noted the dark bags under his eyes, hollowed cheekbones and thinner hair. It hadn’t been much time since he’d last seen him and yet he looked so… worn down.

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted without thinking.

“Potter,” Malfoy replied. The girl had stopped talking and looked at Harry with a blank smile on her face.

“Friend?” she asked.

“Uhm…” Malfoy trailed off. “Kind of.”

An awkward silence swam over them until finally the girl spoke up. “You are?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m Harry,” Harry said politely and stuck his hand out.

“Alicia,” she said. She looked between the two, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “I’m gonna go grab some… peaches. Let you two talk.” She lightly punched Malfoy’s shoulder and jogged off.

“So…”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Malfoy said, the words tumbling out before Harry could speak. He blinked as Malfoy awkwardly cleared his throat. “I wrote you about her.”

“Is she a muggle or…?”

“Yeah. Muggle.”

“Change of heart, then?”

Malfoy shifted, looking nervous. It wasn’t a look Harry was used to seeing on Malfoy’s face. He shrugged. It was kind of hard to be angry with him.

“How was Azkaban?”

Okay, so, maybe not that hard.

For a brief moment, Malfoy gritted his teeth and looked quite furious. Then he smoothed his features into a more casual sneer. “It was… fine. Not my finest experience.”

Silence. Finally, Harry sighed and spoke up. “Listen… We’re not kids anymore and I’d like to put everything behind us. Like you said… to be civil.”

“Okay.” For once, Malfoy was silent, waiting for Harry to continue.

“We’ll never be friends. But I’m… I’m glad you’re moving in a good direction. She seems nice.”

“Thank you.”

“I… forgive you. Not to make you feel better, but because I don’t want to be angry all the time. It’s exhausting.” Harry stuck out his hand. “Good luck with whatever.”

Malfoy slowly and hesitantly stuck his own hand out. “You too.”

Harry grabbed the medicine and walked off, unsure how to feel.

)*(

He didn’t tell Ron or Hermione. It wasn’t cowardice; it was more like… self-preservation, really.

)*(

“Harry,” Ron whispered late that night. Harry shifted, sniffling and then proceeding to blow his nose.

“Yeah?”

“I think I love Hermione… like really love her.”

“Yeah?” His head was pounding in pain. He wanted to be happy for Ron, to shove aside his own selfishness to tell Ron just how happy he was. But no more words would escape. His fingers touched the scar carefully, reminding himself the pain was from a stupid cold. Not… not _him_.

It was a bad night.

“Yeah,” Ron mumbled.

“Congrats, mate.”

Harry turned over, clenching his teeth, wishing the pain would just go away.

)*(

A month later, Percy had some sort of mental breakdown and was sent off to St. Mungo’s.

“It was only a matter of time,” Ron commented quietly, watching through the window to Percy’s hospital room.

Hermione sighed, sounding depressingly defeated. “Yeah.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy,” Harry muttered. “Just like Percy.”

Ron frowned. “How?”

“I’ve still got pains in my scar. Like he’s still here. I don’t really know if he’s gone.”

He felt like he was swimming in déjà vu.

“I forgave Malfoy,” he admitted after a long stretch of silence.

“Me too,” Hermione confessed.

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. “You both are nutters.” He wrapped an arm around Hermione. “But it’s okay, because at least there’s one sane person of this lot. Me.”

They all burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Right,” Hermione wheezed. “Right.”

)*(

Things got a little better. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all got jobs; they made money. It wasn’t such a fabulous feat, but it felt normal. They went out to places sometimes and had fun. Sometimes Neville, Luna and Ginny joined. Once, Malfoy and Ron exchanged polite nods. It was an iconic moment.

His nights didn’t cease to be horrible. Nightmares plagued him still. Everyone at the Burrow had them; at least he wasn’t alone in that.

It was Ginny who convinced him to see a therapist; apparently they were just as common in the wizarding world as in the muggle world. It helped. After that, the nightmares didn’t lesson, but they became more tolerable. The pains in his scar became rare occasions on rough nights. The world started to feel a little clearer.

And his heart felt so much lighter as he began to believe, began to _know_ that Voldemort was truly, once and for all, dead.

_*end*_

**Author's Note:**

> Agh, I am so happy to finally finish this puppy. *huff* My back ACHES and I'm pretty sure my body is surviving on espresso at this point. But after weeks of work, I can finally publish this!!! Yay!!! :D 
> 
> Comments, critique, reviews... Whatever you wanna do, would be super helpful! :)


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